The Vicomte d'Halluys, wit, duelist, devil-may-care, spendthrift.

Ho, Vicomte!" the poet called.
"Saumaise ?" cried the man at the door, coming forward.
"Go in, Paul," said the poet; "I want a word with him." The Chevalier passed into the private assembly.

The vicomte and the poet looked into each other's eyes for a moment.

The vicomte slapped his thigh and laughed.
"Hang me from a gargoyle on Notre Dame," he broke forth, "if it isn't the poet!" "The same," less hilariously.
"I thought you had gone to Holland ?" "I can talk Spanish," replied Victor, "but not a word of Dutch.

And you?
Is it Spain ?" "Nay; when the time comes I'm for New France.